– MTFBW, I guess. So when I was ungently nudged from working on Star Wars Marvel books like Shadow of Vader, I had spoken at the time of a “second book” that I was taken off of — and some people incorrectly assumed this was a novel. It wasn’t — it was the recently-announced TIE Fighter comic book series, which is tying into Alexander Freed’s Alphabet Trilogy novels put out by Del Rey. The series is now picked up by the most excellent Jody Houser, who is awesome and I have full confidence will do 100x the job I would’ve done on it.

– Skull bees, incoming. Hey, good news: Death & Honey, the trio of novellas put out by Kevin Hearne, Delilah S. Dawson and myself, got a nice review in Publisher’s Weekly: In this blood-soaked collection of fantasy novellas tied to larger series, three otherwise unconnected tales are linked by the thematic inclusion of murder and bees. Kevin Hearne’s “The Buzz Kill” returns to the Iron Druid Chronicles after the events of 2018’s Scourged. As narrated by the faithful sausage-loving wolfhound Oberon, druid Atticus O’ Sullivan investigates the mysterious death of a man deep in the wilds of Tasmania. In the weird west story “Grist of Bees” by Lila Bowen, retired monster-hunter Rhett Walker (last seen in 2018’s Treason of Hawks) is tempted back into service to rescue a kidnapped girl from a malevolent oracle on a mountain, a quest that leads the reluctant hero to face elements of his checkered past. Meanwhile, Chuck Wendig checks in on the world of Miriam Black in “Interlude: Tanager,” which features Wren, a psychic teenager unable to escape her life as a hunter of serial killers. While all three stories rely heavily upon previous knowledge of their respective series, they’re still accessible for newcomers. Established fans and completionists will undoubtedly enjoy seeing what these characters are up to now.

– They say Episode 2 was a myth, a legend, a ghost. Yep, that’s right, it’s another episode of the podcast Thor: Ragnatalk, where Anthony and I, still having only five minutes left of the movie to discuss, totally don’t discuss it and instead return to the forbidden territory of MISSING EPISODE TWO. *flash of lightning* *drum of thunder*

– Where’s Wendig? This week I’m traveling to NYC for Mon-Tues — no public events, doing some secret behind-the-scenes publishery things. And then at the end of the week I’m off to Seattle, where I will be hanging on Saturday at ALA Midwinter to talk about Wanderers!

– Speaking of that bison-bludgeoner… though it’s a good bit of time before Wanderers actually reaches shelves (July 2nd!) it has begun racking up a heart-swelling, swoon-worthy list of blurbs from a handful of really amazing authors: Harlan Coben, Peng Shepherd, James Rollins, John Scalzi, Charles Soule, Peter Clines, Delilah S. Dawson, Kat Howard, Fran Wilde, Christopher Golden, Erin Morgenstern, Richard Kadrey, and more. I am a very lucky boy.

– Vultures is out Tuesday. Watch this space.

– Now here is a photo of some bread and an apple hey congrats now you’re hungry.

I have a new book out this week, but that’s not what I’ve come to Chuck’s space to tell you about. I want to talk about a public charade in which most published authors are asked to participate: the practice of “fake it ’til you make it” (a close cousin of “impostor syndrome”).

Self-promotion is a big part of being an author in today’s media-soaked landscape. Our agents, editors, and publishers encourage us to develop “personal brands,” to be “authentic,” to make ourselves accessible to our public in order to increase public awareness of us and our works.

There are lots of dos and don’ts when choosing what to say and, just as important, what not to say in public. Don’t trash-talk other creators. Never air work-related complaints. Don’t demean yourself or your work. Defeatism and pessimism about one’s self or one’s work turn people away from you. Self-pity and envy don’t rack up retweets. This is all good life advice, in fact.

Creators on social media can feel as if they are expected to present a positive, successful image at all times—and to churn out a steady mix of self-revelation, irreverent commentary, earnest activism, and a smidge of self-promotion. It creates the impression that all of us are doing great, that things couldn’t be better, that we’re all on upward trajectories of success and enrichment.

Unfortunately, for quite a few of us at any given moment, that’s not entirely true.

Creative professions, especially those connected with publishing, are difficult and often low-paying. For persons without other full-time occupations, trying to survive in a gig economy can be brutal, exhausting, and demoralizing. Sometimes we get depressed. The entities some of us rely upon to help advance our careers let us down. Things sometimes don’t turn out as well as we had hoped. Promises made to us get broken; opportunities get rescinded.

Most of us can’t talk openly about such setbacks. In some cases it would do us more harm than good to air our disappointments, so we shield our fans and friends from our bad news.

One consequence of this conspiracy of optimism is that newcomers to the field sometimes harbor unrealistic expectations. No one wants to tell them how hard it is to break out of the submissions pile, or that being published, far from being a guarantee of success, is often little more than a roll of the dice.

We always hear about the starred reviews, the bestsellers, the award-winners. But no one speaks of the books that got panned. That didn’t find the audiences their publishers and authors hoped for. That weren’t optioned by Hollywood in high-six-figure deals. That got quietly remaindered. No one wants to hear about the series that were abandoned by their publishers, left to die like wounded animals in the desert.

Ours is a hard art. An unforgiving business. A merciless meat-grinder that devours new and original ideas without apology or reward. Nobody really knows what works or why. And the truth is, only a small percentage of our peers are really doing as well as they seem to be.

Does that discourage you? Make you want to quit and find some other line of work? If it does, then maybe this was never the profession for you. Conversely, if you can gaze into this abyss of disappointment and find the will to keep going, you might just be one of those who will survive its indignities and emerge on the other side, clothed in glory.

Because the flip side of “fake it ’til you make it” is that this business is designed to let you do exactly that. Did your first book tank? Is your name forever mud in the spreadsheets of Nielsen Bookscan? That’s okay. Gin up a pseudonym and try again.

Were you doing well for a while until an unexpected failure sank the career you’d been building for years? Same advice. Reinvent yourself and keep going. As long as you’re willing to keep working, the system is set up to let you. No one ever knows what’s going to sell. Some hit books are manufactured, but some come out of left field. If that lucky strike happens to you, no one will care if you’re writing under your real name or your seventh nom de plume. A win is a win.

So, if the key is perseverance, how does one avoid succumbing to despair while waiting and hoping for success?

That is a challenge that I think everyone has to sort out for themselves. In my case, I’ve learned to bear the slings and arrows of publishing misfortune by embracing the Four Noble Truths. They are, to paraphrase the Buddha (and also Bill and Ted):

To exist is to suffer.

The origin of suffering is desire.

The way to end suffering is to let go of desire and seek harmony.

The path to harmony is be excellent to one another.

You might ask, “What has any of that to do with trying to build a writing career?” Fair enough. I apply the Four Noble Truths this way:

First, the work is going to be hard, and setbacks are inevitable. You don’t have to like the hardship, but you need to accept it.

Second, let go of your expectations and be thankful for whatever success or enjoyment you find along your journey. Not all of us who get into this business will become number-one bestsellers or highly paid rock-star authors. Some of us have to find purpose in telling tales in which we find truth and meaning. Maybe we’ll be lauded after we’re dead. Maybe not. C’est la vie.

Last but not least, be kind to yourself and others. We are all fighting a difficult battle—some of us with our muses, others with health, some with finances, or with any combination of those and other tribulations. Lift one another up. Celebrate one another’s successes, and have compassion for those who are not so blessed by fortune as you have been. Let go of your ego.

Buddhism teaches us that all things and beings are interconnected—which is just another way of saying, “We’re all in this together. Let’s be good to one another and enjoy the ride.” And if we’re lucky, a day will come when we all will make it, and none shall need to fake it. Namaste.

* * *

David Mack is the award-winning and New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty novels of science fiction, fantasy, and adventure. Mack’s writing credits span several media, including television (for episodes of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine), short fiction, and comic books. His new novel The Iron Codex is available now from Tor Books.

]]>http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2019/01/16/david-mack-almost-all-of-us-are-faking-it/feed/1133839In Writing, Progress Doesn’t Always Look Like Progresshttp://terribleminds.com/ramble/2019/01/15/in-writing-progress-doesnt-always-look-like-progress/
http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2019/01/15/in-writing-progress-doesnt-always-look-like-progress/#commentsTue, 15 Jan 2019 14:13:01 +0000http://terribleminds.com/ramble/?p=33824It’s been sort of a perfect storm of late in terms of triggers leading me to think very hard about writing advice, writing processes, and progress in writing.

Part of it is the discussion I had with awesome human Anthony Carboni on our podcast, Ragnatalk, where in Episode 15 we attempt, however vainly, to tackle the nature of failed, troublesome New Year Resolutions.

Part of it is the blowback to the Marie Kondo Netflix show, and the backlash to the blowback, and the backblow to the lashback. (Wait, what?)

This is your reminder that every word you write is a drop of water that becomes the iceberg that will lift you out of the morass and toward your goal. No word is wasted. Short stories that don't sell, books that you trunk, plots you sketch and abandon. Every word has value.

I am wont to describe myself sometimes as a failed novelist. Which seems strange, of course, because I’ve published over 20 novels with a handful more on the way — which would seem like the earmark of success. I’m a NYT-bestselling author, to boot, which again would maaaaybe suggest that success has been met, good job, go me, self-high-five. But I also wrote my first novel at 18. And wrote four more that were execrable. And tried to write countless others, all of which litter the earth behind me, a wake of Story Corpses and Book Carcasses whose lives were ended prematurely when I abandoned them. Given that I didn’t have my first novel published until 2012, when I was 36 years old, I had far more years under my belt as a failed writer-of-books than as a successful one.

Now, obviously publishing a novel is only one metric of success — finishing one certainly is, too, and I finished my first book when I was 18, so I understand if you’re bristling a little at this point, because we should celebrate our successes! Shit, sometimes writing a single sentence is a major win, right? But before you run at me, arms akimbo, warning me of my error, I also want to make sure you realize that when I say failed novelist, I don’t mean it as an insult. It’s not derogatory. It’s not meant to ding me or self-limit me or even undersell me. It is, for me, a huge win: I am not a person who reviles failure, and in fact, consider it a necessary part of Doing The Thing, whatever the hell The Thing is. Failing at a thing means you still tried. And trying means doing.

My path through that forest of failure — and, eventually, success — is a pretty janky, drunken zig-zag. (As I make fun of here.) It’s a stumbling tumble working counter monkey at coffee places and as an IT guy for a fashion company and selling computers and doing marketing for the library system and then there was game writing and screenwriting and transmedia writing and comics and, and, and. It’s a whole lot of not writing novels, while also trying very hard (and failing very hard) at writing novels.

It was a lot of giving up, and (thankfully) even more giving up on giving up.

So, I’m cool with being a failed novelist. Because there was just no other way.

I note this because, I very obviously don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. And you could not replicate my journey if you tried. (Even if you could replicate it, it wouldn’t be yours, it’d be mine, and would likely bring you little joy or triumph. Unless you’re my doppelgänger, CHNURK MANDOG, who is out there, right now, the motherfucker. With his beard of bees and his snake-fingers and the spiders that live in his mouth! Damn you, Chnurk Mandog, damn you.) And yet, and yet, despite being the cartographer of the jankiest-ass map, despite not actually knowing what the sweet hot hell I’m doing, I still tend to give writing advice.

Now, it’s been very interesting to watch the reaction to the Marie Kondo thing — in part because it seems a whole lot of people are just now discovering her spark joy form of minimalist organization. And it’s been interesting to watch the reaction to the reaction. Obviously, she riled some people up by suggesting they should only keep so many books on their shelves and her methodology for determining what books to keep or not to keep certainly isn’t for me, but it will also work for a lot of people even as it doesn’t for me. Predictably, some people were like FUCK YOU MARIE KONDO YOU CAN’T TAKE MY BOOKS YOU GODDAMN DRACULA, and further predictably, some of the over-reaction is probably due to an (un)healthy dose of racism and sexism. But for me it also highlighted how we present, and engage with, advice — like, because we’re All Forever Online, we are probably well-aware at this point that nuance in conversation needs way more oxygen than the Internet is often willing to give it. Everything is either THE BEST or THE WORST, everyone is either THE HERO WE NEED or CANCELLED, KICK ‘EM OUT THE AIRLOCK, every point is either A THOUSAND PERCENT TRUE or SO WRONG IT LITERALLY CURDLES MY URINE.

And writing advice has in the past taken this form, too — let us never forget the Traditional Versus Self-Publishing Wars of 2011-2013, where you were either an Elitist Snob-Slash-Serf Leaving Money On The Table or you were Some Authorial Trash Panda Regurgitating Hot Story Barf On Kindle For Ninety-Nine Cents. Or how about how no matter who you are, if you want to be a writer you have to Write Every Day, and Real Writers don’t use adverbs, and Real Writers spin widdershins before they write, and Real Writers eat bees.

(That last one is true, though.)

So, the advice coming from the Cinematic Kondoverse is that you should get rid of books, subtext: because if you don’t you’re a bad wasteful piece-of-shit, you piece-of-shit, you’re wrong and she’s right and so what if she never said that and it’s just advice that you can easily take or leave, but screw her and the streaming service she rode in on.

But no, really — it’s just advice.

And writing advice is just advice, too. It’s like you asking me how to drive to the mall. Maybe I tell you to take the highway, or to take backroads, or to fly a fucking dirigible there because dirigibles are rad, man. No one answer is right or wrong — it’s just me telling you how I’d go. And I think with advice, and writing advice in general, we need to be very cautious as the givers of that advice not to perpetuate the right/wrong dichotomy, not to suggest that there are secret handshakes or one true paths or magical equations you can cleave to to find success. Advice is often the product of survivorship bias: I DID THIS AND IT WORKED FOR ME SO YOU DO THAT NOW, TOO. And maybe it works for you, maybe it doesn’t. It’s why I open and close Damn Fine Story with caveats that I don’t know what I’m doing, that writing advice is bullshit — but sometimes, bullshit fertilizes.

I’m not an expert. I’m just an explorer. I realize that more and more, every day.

(Note: there are actual experts out there, and while writing advice is not science, some things actually are science, and we should endeavor to weight the opinions of actual experts in those fields as greater than that of Internet Randos, please and thank you.)

So, what’s the point of all this?

I don’t yet know.

What I can tell you is that I know less about writing now than when I began, and that my successes have been born of failures, and that my failures are made from just trying shit. All the time. It’s me constantly poking at this thing I do. Sometimes that means 2,000 words a day, sometimes it means 5,000 words in a day, sometimes it means no writing in a day because I’m lost in thought to it. Sometimes it means self-care. Sometimes it means I realize today’s self-care is just a crutch, and I can’t lean on it. But every day it usually means touching it, so to speak, just a little bit. It means looking at it, prodding it, not leaving the work alone. It means accepting that to do this thing I want to do, I need to do it, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, and not always in one direction. Progress is not always in a forward direction. It’s too often sideways. Once in a while, it’s driving in reverse. Sometimes you go back to go forward, sometimes you spin in place for a while, just revving your engine. I don’t know.

That’s the point: I don’t know.

And nobody else does, either.

Nobody but you.

But to Delilah’s point above, there is no waste in your effort. That’s the key takeaway here — the goal is simply never to give up, and always to be doing something. Thinking, plotting, writing, rewriting, scrapping it, starting over, just fucking poking and prodding the thing. How you do that, and the form that it takes, is yours. But be assured that no effort is left on the floor. No part of it fails to teach you a lesson: even, and especially, the failures. To fail is to try. To try is to do. Most people write one book every never. Most people never even manage a paragraph, much less a scene, or a chapter, or a finished manuscript. The best thing I can tell you is to keep on keeping on. The tragedy is not in failing. The tragedy is in quitting. Persevere. And as I said before: persist.

* * *

DAMN FINE STORY: Mastering the Tools of a Powerful Narrative

What do Luke Skywalker, John McClane, and a lonely dog on Ho’okipa Beach have in common? Simply put, we care about them.

Great storytelling is making readers care about your characters, the choices they make, and what happens to them. It’s making your audience feel the tension and emotion of a situation right alongside your protagonist. And to tell a damn fine story, you need to understand why and how that caring happens.

Whether you’re writing a novel, screenplay, video game, or comic, this funny and informative guide is chock-full of examples about the art and craft of storytelling–and how to write a damn fine story of your own.

]]>http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2019/01/15/in-writing-progress-doesnt-always-look-like-progress/feed/1633824In Which I Rank Grocery Store Appleshttp://terribleminds.com/ramble/2019/01/14/in-which-i-rank-grocery-store-apples/
http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2019/01/14/in-which-i-rank-grocery-store-apples/#commentsMon, 14 Jan 2019 19:18:23 +0000http://terribleminds.com/ramble/?p=33800If you did not already know, now you do: I am known at times for reviewing (“reviewing”) heirloom apples over on twitter (check out my thread, which begins here and goes in for like, hundreds of fucking tweets about apples). If I’m ever interviewed to be a SCOTUS judge, I will surely be called to answer for my “apple problem,” where I will vociferously defend myself thus: “I LIKE APPLES. OKAY? I LIKE APPLES A LOT. AND THEY LIKE ME. ME AND THE BOYS AND GIRLS ALL ATE APPLES, OKAY? THAT’S AMERICAN.”

And I am of course a savage apple snob. I don’t mean to be. It’s just, I’ve seen the truth and the truth is that there are literally thousands of types of apples, and they range wildly in taste and complexity and quality and that’s just a lot of fun. It’s interesting. It’s like getting a whole range of fruit-tasting experience that you didn’t know existed before.

Sadly, though, that’s not what’s commercially available to us the rest of the year. Most people across the country don’t get more than a dozen apple-types available year around — and here someone much smarter than me can chime in with a conversation about food deserts and grocery stores. Produce is tricky, because outside farm areas, it has to travel well and look pretty even before it tastes good, and… well, the long story short is that we only get so many kinds of apples available in stores.

And people ask me which of those they should eat.

As if I have a clue.

So, I thought: well, I’ll do what I do for heirloom apples, and review some store-bought ones. I’m doing it here instead of Twitter because… well, I don’t know. THE FUTURE IS THE PAST: BLOGS ARE BACK. (They’re probably not but I figure it if I say it loud enough, you’ll believe me.)

So, here, I’m gonna rank some apples.

These apples, in part:

But I also had more in the fridge worth reviewing.

We’ll go worst to best.

Note: these are all just my humble, uninformed opinions, and further, apples on any given day and at any given store might be different, and so maybe I ended up with an exceptionally good example of Type A and a total shitbucket version of Type B and neither are exemplary of the whole, yadda yadda yadda. Just saying, this ain’t math.

Let us begin.

15. Rome

God, this fucking apple. First, that photo is pretty and I like it — I didn’t take photos of all the apples, but I did of this one because it was so lovingly round and red. And I had high hopes for how it would taste even though it’s largely described as a good cooking or sauce apple, and ohhh fuck I shouldn’t have had those high hopes. It was like eating apple-scented sand, just a mouthful of sad, wet sand. Sauce it all you like, but don’t put it in your mouth uncooked.

14. Granny Smith

Look. It’s good for baking but don’t put it in your mouth. Deal? Deal.

Moving on.

13. Green Dragon

That apple above is the Green Dragon, which is a great name for an apple, if that apple were good. And this one is not good. It is an apple that is best fed to children and horses. Okay, so here’s the thing, I cut open this apple to take a look at it, and the smell of the thing was intense. In a good way, not in a smells like goat farts way — I mean, it was redolent with floral esters. (Did you know that apples are a relative of the rose? True story.) And that smell, alongside the name, form a powerful over-promise / under-deliver scenario, because the resultant apple is sweet in the way that tastes like someone just dipped their thumb in white sugar and had you lick it off. There’s zero tartness, and the sugar flavor isn’t even complicated. It’s just candy. And not even good candy. Worse, then the texture kicks in, which is mealy, mushy, gritty. I’ve read some reviews of these apples that suggest they’re pretty 50/50 — meaning, you can get really good ones and really turdy ones, but that’s also not much of a recommendation if their quality is all over the map.

12. Crimson Gold

This apple is tiny. I am confused a bit about its parentage, as I’m to understand there is a crabapple cross called a Crimson Gold, but this Crimson Gold came in a bag with a bunch of its diminutive friends, and it said it was a cross of a Newtown and Spitzenburg? I have no idea. What I know is this: fuck this apple. It’s too small. What’s the point? You can’t eat the middle (okay, technically you can), so you’re mostly just nibbling the thing, because the core takes up most of it. The flavor is fine — it’s very sugar-forward, with a funky, vegetal finish, but the texture is like eating a toe. And not a nice soft baby toe either but like, a toe that’s seen some shit, a toe that belongs to a foot that has crossed mountain ranges. Feed this apple to a hungry pony and move on.

11. Autumn Glory

I love autumn. I love glory. I wanted to love this apple and the first bite is tantalizing — there’s something in there that is puzzlingly caramel, this warm, buttery burned sugar thing I’ve never really found in another apple. And there’s a whiff of the licorice flavor you get with a really good russet. And there’s a hint of tartness. But then the flavor kinda goes away and you’re left still… chewing it. Like a piece of bubblegum that you know you can’t swallow but you also know you can’t just stick on the bottom of the bus seat because people might look at you, so you’re instead left to kinda keep chawing and chawing and gnashing this thing into oblivion.

10. Red Delicious

I know. Okay?

I know.

You’re already saying, “Chuck, but the Red Delicious apple is a fucking monster. It’s the pinnacle of mediocrity, it’s an artifact of a time that apples had to be able to survive a 600-mile journey in an apple cart, it just has to stand there and be tough and pretty despite how shitty it tastes.” I know! I KNOW. I’ve myself said that it is the Judas Apple, the Liar Fruit, it is neither red (honestly it’s kind of a Satanic crimson) nor delicious, and is an apple best used for throwing at your enemies.

And yet here we are.

In proof that this is the weirdest and worst timeline, the Red Delicious apple was not the worst I tasted. In fact it was perfectly okay. I mean, it wasn’t exactly good, but like, I ate it and didn’t hate myself. The only hatred came from the peculiarly bitter aftertaste, which tastes more like an apple seed than an actual apple? Whatever. Point is, this wasn’t hellish. I still wouldn’t buy one. I’d still throw it at enemies. Its texture is crisp but a little woody (tee-hee, woody). It is in fact the very definition of mediocre. But it’s not horse food.

I know, I’m sorry, I want to hate it.

9. Snapdragon

Another dragon apple, I see.

This is a nice apple. Smells and tastes of elderflower. It’s crisp and juicy. A little too juicy, in that it almost came across as watery. But that also lends it a very refreshing vibe. Be a great summer apple on a hot day. After several bites I noticed in this apple and several of the other ones that there’s also a bit of white grape flavor going on which makes sense since I think some grape juice is cut with apple juice, the same way cocaine is stepped on by including like, baby powder? I dunno. Grassy aftertaste.

8. Sweetango

I really like juice from Sweetango — less so the apple. I mean, it’s good! It’s nice. It has its sweetness and tartness in near perfect balance but has this weird aftertaste that’s like drinking your grandmother’s cheap CVS perfume? Comes on strong with flavor then gets weird, and not in a good way weird. Its parents are the Honeycrisp and the Zestar (Zestar being my favorite galactic overlord, as well), but for my mileage, just eat a Honeycrisp instead.

7. Fuji

It’s cliched, but I prefer Fuji as an apple with other foods — with cheese, in salads, on a charcuterie board, with soft baby toes, whatever. (Also good to blend up and make your own vinaigrette with.) But not my favorite for eating. Still, it’s a solid apple contender.

6. Honeycrisp

This is where I make people mad.

The Honeycrisp (initially mistyped as “Hineycrisp”) is fine.

It’s fine.

It’s even good.

But it is not the sacred savior of apples. You bring up apples and everyone’s like FUCKING HONEYCRISP FUCK YEAH HONEYCRISP SCREW YOUR OTHER APPLES THE HONEYCRISP IS LORD AND KING OF APPLETOWN, and, y’know, calm down. I’m glad you like it! Like it, love it, rub it all over yourself. But for my mileage it’s a very expensive, sort of half-trendy half-mediocre Top-40 pop music apple that is totally serviceable and yet also not… that interesting? It’s like talking to someone about Transformers and they’re like MY FAVORITE TRANSFORMER IS OPTIMUS PRIME, and… okay, we all like Optimus Prime. He’s great. It’s also sorta the obvious answer. I mean, where’s the Cliffjumper love? Howabout Windblade?

For me it’s too sweet. YMMV. And what I mean by that is, FUCK YOU, HONEYCRISP, YOU’RE THE ED SHEERAN OF APPLES.

5. Jazz

It’s the jazz hands of apples. Meaning, it’s zippy and fun, and swiftly overdone if you indulge too much. Always a good snacking apple, though.

4. Envy & Gala

I’m putting these two together because, quite honestly, the specimens I had were not particularly distinguishable from one another. Gala is an Envy parent, and… listen, these are both sweet apples, sweet more than they are tart, with good juiciness and crunch. I don’t know that they’re particularly exciting, but they just taste like appley goodness.

3. Opal

Now we’re getting somewhere. I really liked the Opal. Very, very crisp apple with this incredibly breaking texture that called to mind the feeling of using your teeth to break off a piece of good dark chocolate. Strong scent of pear-pineapple which is met by an equally fruity flavor profile. Also in times of great need, Opal turns into a Mighty Apple Princess and will fight on your behalf, for your honor, for the Kingdom of Fruitonia. True story, don’t @ me.

2. Ruby Frost

Ruby Frost: a great apple, also my stripper name. Got a nice lemon tingle tartness (Lemon Tingle is my backup stripper name), has a floral vibe while not being overly perfumey, not cloyingly-sweet.

1. Pink Lady

Fuck yeah, Pink Ladies.

(Also known as Cripps Pink.)

This is lately my go-to apple — good balanced apple with an electric tartness that’s tempered by a mouth-slap of sweetness. I will say I had a small batch of these and one of them tasted hellaciously like soap, and I have no idea why. I assume there’s some weird soap bandit going around grocery stores injecting apples with dish detergent or something.

In Summation

Again, none of this is science — so much of this is based off peculiar intricacies like the weather, the orchard, how long the apples have been on the shelf, and so on and so forth. (I mean, of course the breeding and heritage of apples is science, but my tasting of them and opinion about them is most certainly not.) Like what you like and don’t be swayed away from that. Just eat apples! They’re good food. Good fiber, they help you sleep, they even help against acid reflux. (Avoid apple cider vinegar for reflux, mind you. If your acid reflux is from, well, acid, then pouring more acid on top of it is not pleasant. Though I’m not a doctor, so again, YMMV.)

I should note that there are other apples I like more than what’s listed here — I’ll take a Jonathan, Jonagold, or Braeburn any day of the week. The best apple I ever ate was in fact a Jonathan apple in Fruita, Colorado. Also, I’m to understand that my very favorite non-heirloom apple, the Gold Rush, is growing more available at local orchards and grocery stores, and it’s a helluva good apple. Not great when you pick it in Oct/Nov, but amazing come December, and keeps through till February or even beyond. (We just ate our last batch the other night, and they’re perfect for snacking, for pies, for cooking, probably even for cider.)

And since I’m sure someone will ask, here is a quick list of my favorite heirlooms of 2018 in no particular order, should you ever be able to find them:

A decadent rock star. A deeply religious radio host. A disgraced scientist. And a teenage girl who may be the world’s last hope. An astonishing tapestry of humanity that Harlan Coben calls “a suspenseful, twisty, satisfying, surprising, thought-provoking epic.”

A sleepwalking phenomenon awakens terror and violence in America. The real danger may not be the epidemic, but the fear of it. With society collapsing—and an ultraviolent militia threatening to exterminate them—the fate of the sleepwalkers and the shepherds who guide them depends on unraveling the mystery behind the epidemic. The terrifying secret will either tear the nation apart—or bring the survivors together to remake a shattered world.

See? Macro Monday is so much better than getting hit in the face with a mackerel. (Star Wars X-mas ornament macros at the bottom of this post.)

ANYWAY hey hi hello happy Monday everyone.

The weekend tried to rescue us from the banality of the week, but as always, it failed in its task and has retreated to its Party Crypt, where it will return again at the close of Friday to once more try to save us from the oppression of Monday’s brute squad.

Okay I’m informed by my lawyers that we did not finish the movie and instead talked about post-New Year motivation and process and how to stay true to your goals and chip at them meaningfully? What fresh hell is this? Are we some kind of self-help podcast now? Jeez.

(More seriously, the podcast hits on some very real process stuff which may earn some fresh bloggery re: writing. Keep your grapes peeled.)

Next up: another podcast, the Big Beautiful Podcast, as hosted by Jamie Greene. I’m on it! Talking about writing and life and Star Wars and other stuff.

Lessee. What else?

Vultures drops next week! If you want an autographed copy replete with PERSONAL DEATH PROPHECY, you can nab one from Lets Play Books — they’ll ship it right to you. Otherwise, pre-order in print or eBook. Bonus: now available for pre-order in audio as well, hosted by series narrator, Emily Beresford!

Speaking of audio, you can also pre-order the audio for Death & Honey, the triumvirate of novellas by Kevin Hearne, Delilah Dawson, and yours truly. My story is a story featuring Wren, from the Miriam Black series, and nestles comfortably between the end of Book 5 and Book 6. Also, Subterranean Press is doing a limited print edition, with some signed and signed/lettered editions left. Check it out.

Lesson Five:

Lesson Six:

One day you will die and the best gift you can leave for your loved ones upon passing is a house full of dubious objects containing questionable value, the kind of objects that would earn a sour face from any curator on Antiques Roadshow. Collecting things is sometimes about creating a physical burden to pass along to your family members BECAUSE THEY DESERVE IT

THEY KNOW WHAT THEY DID

THAT’S RIGHT I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU, COUSIN MARY

WHERE’S MY CHAFING DISH YOU HARRIDAN

OH OH I’M NOT GETTING IT BACK

WELL FINE I JUST LEFT YOU 20 SHOEBOXES FULL OF CABLES COLLECTED WITH UNCERTAIN POINTS OF ORIGIN

THEY MIGHT BE PRINTER CABLES OR RCA VIDEO CABLES OR THE CHARGING CORD TO SOME KNOCKOFF PALM PILOT FROM 1998

MAYBE ONE OF THEM CHARGES A SEX TOY

YOU JUST DON’T KNOW

THAT’S FOR YOU TO SORT OUT, MARY

YOU RAT

Lesson Seven:

Oh, yeah, you’re going to need more skeletons.

Lesson Seven-Point-Five:

Remember, if you can’t afford skeletons?

You can always make them.

Your house is a home and your home is a trap to any wayward soul or feral animal that finds its way in there! All a tomb needs is four walls, after all.

Lesson Eight:

You’ll fit into that sweater someday.

Remember, we all become skeletons in the end, and skeletons can wear most clothing without concerns over size or fit. Death is slimming!

YES JUDY WE ARE TALKING A LOT ABOUT SKELETONS

SKELETONS ARE IMPORTANT JUDY

GODDAMNIT

Lesson Nine:

If you throw something out, that creates waste.

But if you keep it, it contains value.

As compost, eventually.

Eventually we all become compost, Judy.

Lesson Ten:

Yes, MORE books, who the fuck ever said to STOP buying books

Lesson Eleven:

No, don’t clean your desk that thing contains tax receipts from 1988.

And also dead crickets!

Which I don’t need to tell you are protein, Judy.

GOOD HEALTHY PROTEIN which we are going to need when the shit hits the fan. That time is coming, Judy. The dark times. The mad times. The times where those who survive are those who chose clutter, who chose to surround themselves with objects that can be uses as tools or food or gladiatorial weapons in the Wasteland.

Ha ha ha I’m just kidding, Judy.

Now use that barbed wire to bind these cat bones to that shovel.

Lesson Twelve:

The joy of purging? Ha ha no way Marie Kondo, we’re here to talk about the joy of binging! Binging my new Netflix show, of course. And also stuff. So much stuff. Binge all the stuff. Collect it. Eat it. Build with it. Build walls. Build towers. Build effigies to the ancient gods. The ancient gods who collected people the way you collect office supplies you’ll never need. Three staplers? Who the fuck needs three staplers? That’s right, Judy. You do. You do.

Lesson Thirteen:

Like the Pharaohs of old, you surround yourself in life and in death with a bevy of beloved objects, all of which are sealed up in your castle of books, your tomb of stuff, your temple of semi-beloved shame-stained garbage, and now you are protected from wolves and emotions and you have so much knowledge and nobody can hurt you now, Judy, nobody but Cousin Mary, now eat your crickets and clutch your Cat Bone Shovel tight, Judy, the hill mutants are coming, the hill mutants are coming

*static*

* * *

WANDERERS: A Novel, out July 2nd, 2019.

A decadent rock star. A deeply religious radio host. A disgraced scientist. And a teenage girl who may be the world’s last hope. An astonishing tapestry of humanity that Harlan Coben calls “a suspenseful, twisty, satisfying, surprising, thought-provoking epic.”

A sleepwalking phenomenon awakens terror and violence in America. The real danger may not be the epidemic, but the fear of it. With society collapsing—and an ultraviolent militia threatening to exterminate them—the fate of the sleepwalkers and the shepherds who guide them depends on unraveling the mystery behind the epidemic. The terrifying secret will either tear the nation apart—or bring the survivors together to remake a shattered world.

]]>http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2019/01/08/welcome-to-my-new-netflix-show/feed/3833753Macro Monday Wants You To Have A Cookiehttp://terribleminds.com/ramble/2019/01/07/macro-monday-wants-you-to-have-a-cookie/
http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2019/01/07/macro-monday-wants-you-to-have-a-cookie/#commentsMon, 07 Jan 2019 13:14:43 +0000http://terribleminds.com/ramble/?p=33739Break is now officially-officially over for me — like I was kinda back last week, but our child remained off of school for the week so we were still half-assing it, more or less.

It was a good break.

We saw Bumblebee, which was actually a lot of fun — a G1 Transformers adventure which really, more people should’ve seen. It’s like A GIRL AND HER PONY, except, her pony is a Transformer? Whatever. It’s a blast. Also saw Mary Poppins Returns, which was also a lot of fun and full of the light and whimsy and goodness I sorta needed to get my 2019 started — it drags maybe a little in the middle, with maybe one song too many, but overall, a joy to behold.

Christmas was good. New Years was good. Nothing particularly exciting — I mean, sure, we accidentally cooked Santa in the fireplace (ha ha my bad) and on the New Year I fired a rifle in the air in the ANCIENT WENDIG WAY, and the rifle bullet took a chip out of the moon? But that’s okay, I’m pretty sure that’s where the secret Nazi base was, so, for reals, YOU’RE WELCOME.

There is, of course, news.

First, if you were looking to pre-order Vulturesand you wanted a signed copy with a customized death prediction, well, once again Let’s Play Books has you covered. Click here and they’ll get you set up. (You can actually order any of the books in the series this way, btw.)

I should also note that Vultures — out January 22nd! Two weeks (and a day)! — is in some people’s hands already in ARC form, and a head’s up to those people: the book ain’t right. It’s the wrong version of the book, pre-edit, and though I don’t think it’s dramatically different, it’s got enough errors and such that I’m kinda disappointed people might be using it for review copies.

Be aware, regardless.

Wanderers, on the other hand, has a longer road to publication (July 2nd!) but that book has already begun to collect fancy blurbs from a series of wonderful authors — I’m sitting on a very nice collection of very kind comments, and the publisher has posted a few of these, so I’m going to post the first three here, too —

“Wanderers is wonderful—a suspenseful, twisty, satisfying, surprising, thought-provoking epic of a novel. Chuck Wendig has taken his considerable talents to the next level. Dig in.”

—Harlan Coben,#1 New York Times bestselling author of Run Away

“Chuck Wendig’s latest Wanderers is a magnum opus of both storytelling and prose. Epic in scope, yet told with an intimacy that hooked me from the first page. It reminded me of a technological version of Stephen King’s The Stand—but dare I say, this story is even better: a post-apocalyptic horror story that bares the best and worst of humanity in all its rawest forms. Don’t miss this tour de force. It left me awed.”

—James Rollins, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Crucible

“Wanderers is a stunning epic that deftly weaves together a deadly pandemic, ideological violence, and environmental collapse in a way that feels both fantastically mysterious and very frighteningly plausible. Wendig’s tale brims with the irresistible dread of The Stand and prose as sharp and heartbreaking as Station Eleven, but what sets this book apart and will keep you riveted until the end is its deeply compelling cast of characters—courageous, terrified, flawed, but most of all, full of hope. Simply put, Wanderers is a masterpiece.”

There also a new episode of Thor: Ragnatalk, where surely, surely, Anthony and I cover the actual last ten minutes of the movie and definitely don’t spend our entire time eating and reviewing New Zealand snacks. I mean, probably.

And that’s it.

Have a great week, weirdos.

]]>http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2019/01/07/macro-monday-wants-you-to-have-a-cookie/feed/1033739In 2019: Persist, Persist, Persisthttp://terribleminds.com/ramble/2018/12/31/in-2019-persist-persist-persist/
http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2018/12/31/in-2019-persist-persist-persist/#commentsMon, 31 Dec 2018 16:45:48 +0000http://terribleminds.com/ramble/?p=33717Usually, I do a writing-related resolution for myself and other writers if they care to borrow it — but this year, all I got is:

Persist, writers.

Your stories will outlast this peculiar, fucked-up moment in history, but for those stories to outlast, you first gotta write ’em.

I don’t know who you are or what you write: maybe what you need to write is raw escapism, or maybe your form of resistance and persistence demands you use your stories to tackle the hinky fuckery going on. But resist, and persist, with art, and with narrative.

You can do it. But it won’t be easier. I expect it’ll be harder this year just as it was harder in 2018 — harder than it feels like it should be. But that makes it all the more worth doing. Don’t let your stories be lost to this bullshit. Save them. Write them.

Persist.

Persist. Forgive yourself. Write despite — or better yet, write TO spite. Embrace the game of inches and understand you won’t always sprint for miles. One word at a time, one sentence, one paragraph, one scene, a house built a brick at a time.

Some days will be harder than others. Turn away from the news when you can. Save time for yourself, give it to yourself as a gift before you give your time to anybody else, or to anywhere or anything else. Art hurts. Stories are squirmy. We live in strange times. Persist.

You need to do it. We need you to do it. Your stories are yours. Full of you. Full of what you believe and what you fear, brimming with your notions both conscious and unconscious, tied to all you’ve known, you’ve loved, you’ve hated. The world needs you and your tales.

PERSIST.

There’s no map but the one you draw. No process of anyone’s you can borrow. You gain your groove by wearing it into the floor one micrometer at a time. It’s erosion. Water on stone to find its path. It makes it harder in times like these because we want it to be math. PERSIST.

You don’t know you can do it. You don’t know that you belong. You can do it. You belong as much as anybody. You’re an impostor, sure, because we’re all impostors, we’re all here unasked for, unbidden, uninvited, wearing our masks.

Persist anyway.

I worry for those just starting, just trying to begin — what a difficult time for you to try to start off on a creative path. But it’s vital you do it. We need your voice, your energy, your ideas. It won’t be right out of the gate. That’s hard. But true. And yet you persist.

Throw some of the fucks out of your fuckbasket. Autonomous functions get harder when we overthink them. Sleeping. Breathing. Writing is like that, too. Write anyway. Write without thinking too much, too hard. Offload your worry to Future You. Just write. And persist.

Bleed on the page if you gotta. Sing and scream. Be angry there. Be vigilant and sad and unsafe. Write madly and with undistilled fury. Write with love, too. Love for yourself even if you can’t see it. Love for the story and the process — even if you can’t feel it.

Sometimes writing isn’t even writing, sometimes storytelling is about thinking, about chewing on something, it’s just you revisiting it again and again, slow-roasting it over hours, days, weeks, months, even years. Recognize that. Persist through it.

And writing is rewriting, too. It’s getting it wrong before you get it right. Sometimes it’s getting it wrong, then even WRONGER, then fucking it all up before you can see it, lined up like a line of crystals in crepuscular beam of sunlight. That’s how it is, sometimes. Persist.

You got this. You won’t feel like you got this. I don’t feel like I got this. I feel overwhelmed by it. I worry I’m not good enough or that I don’t belong. Every book is harder than the last. But I keep on.

And so will you.

Persist, persist, persist.

Into 2019. And past it.

Merry happy fellow word-herders, ink-slingers, penmonkeys.

]]>http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2018/12/31/in-2019-persist-persist-persist/feed/44337172018, Meet 2019: The Year Behind And The Year Aheadhttp://terribleminds.com/ramble/2018/12/26/2018-meet-2019-the-year-behind-and-the-year-ahead/
http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2018/12/26/2018-meet-2019-the-year-behind-and-the-year-ahead/#commentsWed, 26 Dec 2018 16:32:05 +0000http://terribleminds.com/ramble/?p=33701And so it comes to pass that the year is nearly over, and I am left feeling a bit blurry and hazy on what happened, and what could possibly happen next.

Were 2018 to have an epitaph carved into its headstone, it would read:

2018-2018

THE YEAR THAT LASTED TEN YEARS.

REST IN PIECES, YOU WEIRD ASSHOLE.

I could get into a litany of profanity over world events, but I think it’s succinct enough to say: shit was real hinky in 2018, and 2019 probably isn’t looking any less hinky. That’s it. That’s all I’m gonna say about that, right now.

Personally and professionally, 2018 was a very, uh, curious year — generally speaking, I put out a handful of books every year, usually three or four, and I often write the same amount, too. This year? I only put out one book: The Raptor & The Wren. And I didn’t even write a book. I mean, okay, I did monster edits and rewrites on the very big book, Wanderers. I did edits on Vultures, the sixth and final Miriam Black book. And I wrote 80k on a new book, tentatively titled The Book of Accidents. I wrote a novella. I wrote a bunch of comic scripts, most of which you’ll never see —

The good news is, I spent 2018 not actually feeling burnout — for the years prior, I’d been galloping parallel to the riptide current of total burnout, and though I never succumbed to it, it was pretty close. So, 2018 helped me reclaim some energy, and focus what energy I had on the books in front of me, which was good.

Closing out Miriam’s story is satisfying and heartwrenching in equal measure — and though I have no idea if I did her story justice in the eyes of the audience, I feel happy with where I took that story. I’ve planned her story’s end for a while, and this is roughly always where it was going, and hopefully it feels earned. If it doesn’t… um, sorry? Can’t fix it now! *nervous laughter*

With Wanderers…

Yow, that’s a bigger, unrulier, much trickier book. I didn’t have a hard time with it, exactly — it came pouring out of me, as I’d been chewing on parts of the book and other disconnected ideas for years. It all connected suddenly, and out came this book — both an artifact of this time and also one that, ideally, separates us from The Now and still gives a story that is relevant no matter when you read it. The thing is, the book was so damn big. Kudos to Del Rey for letting me write the book as I needed to write it — and for letting me keep it that way, too. I’m excited for people to read it. I’m sitting on (/humblebrag) a number of unusually amazing blurbs, and I’m feeling really fortunate right now.

Hopefully I’ll bring Book of Accidents home in an equally satisfying way. It’s also a weird book? Squirrelly. Tricksy. A little more straight-up horror for me, kind of a ghost story that becomes something more than a ghost story, or something separate from one and… well, I don’t want to give much of it away. Just know that it’s a curious specimen. It is weird to be sitting at a point in my career where I can see, looking back, looking at the present, looking forward, how my writing has shifted into what might be considered a new phase? Both of output and process? And even career?

Shit, I dunno.

We shall see.

As to what else 2019 brings? No idea. I’ll travel a good deal for Wanderers, I hope. Maybe I’ll pop in your area, I dunno! OR EVEN YOUR HOUSE, LIKE AN EVIL SANTA CLAUS IN JULY. I’ll know more as the new year clicks into place.

I think that’s it for me.

More as I have it.

It’s nearly game over, 2018.

And 2019, we’re watching you. No sudden moves.

]]>http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2018/12/26/2018-meet-2019-the-year-behind-and-the-year-ahead/feed/833701Friday Newsplosion: Hey, Look, It’s Wanderershttp://terribleminds.com/ramble/2018/12/21/friday-newsplosion-hey-look-its-wanderers/
http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2018/12/21/friday-newsplosion-hey-look-its-wanderers/#commentsFri, 21 Dec 2018 13:21:13 +0000http://terribleminds.com/ramble/?p=33682So, here’s a thing — yesterday, Entertainment Weekly released their 50 Most Anticipated Books of 2019, and uhhh. *checks again to make sure it wasn’t a dream* It looks like Wanderers is on that list. I have never been on such a fancy list, nor do I ever anticipate being on one again, but for this precious moment in time, I share a special kind of literary interstitial territory with the likes of Samira Ahmed, Erin Morgenstern, and Margaret Atwood, so I’m just going to breathe deep, savor the moment, and try very hard not to barf on myself.

Also, the book is starting to go out to authors for blurbs, a rolling boil of that, as it were, and we’ve already gotten some incredibly kind blurbs back from folks, and I’ll be showcasing some of those in the new year. I am honestly very fortunate and super, super glad this book is actually working for people, because, whew. It’s been a journey.

Reminder: you can pre-order Wanderers (out in July, moved up a week to July 2nd) in Print or eBook.

After the new year I should also return with a pre-order for the last Miriam Black book from Let’s Play Books that gets you an autographed copy and a customized DEATH PREDICTION ooh-la-la you will be the fanciest folkperson on the block, what with your artisanal demise prophecy tucked in your pocket. You’ll make all your friends and enemies jealous.

Finally —

Episode 12: The Loki Awards is up at Ragnatalk, where Anthony Carboni and talk only about the greatest film ever made, Thor: Ragnarok, and maybe we’re supposed to cover the final ten minutes of the movie, but also, maybe we don’t do that and do something else instead. No spoilers! Go listen.

And I think that’s it.

Posting will be light next week because

*checks calendar*

It is some kind of HOOMAN HOLIDAY.

ANYWAY here have a cool macro photo of spraypainted noodles (from an ornament made by my child a couple-few years ago). Happy holidays, humans.